Twisted

“Compared to the rest of them, you’re really quiet. I mean, there is nothing wrong with a bit of silence, in fact, I am rather fond of your quiescence. The others, in comparison, are absolutely insufferable in terms of noise. They enjoy talking over me, especially yelling obscenities. It’s so frustrating that I can barely think! You’re really quiet, though. Like, very strangely quiet. I wish you could talk back and tell me what you’re thinking, but I can easily compromise with silence.”

A girl sits on a rug in the center of a barren room. It’s torn up at the edges and faded in the center, and the only decorative thing in the entire space. The ground is unforgiving cold concrete, the walls made to match. It’s extremely dark, the only exception being the dim lamplight coming through the tiny window on the door. The girl stares and talks to nothing.

“I’ve never seen you before, so welcome to my room! My name is Laverne. Do you have a name? If you’ve met the others, you’d find that they all have names, ones they chose themselves. I wish I could choose my name like they do, like my own special title. A secret identity, or perhaps just a whole new me.”

Laverne wears a floral, cotton dress, and off-white socks with frills and lace. Her manner is innocent, but strangely so, as it heavily contrasts the setting. Upon her chest, she clasps onto a worn out porcelain doll, tied together with what seems to be generous amounts of glue and powder-blue ribbons.

“So? What’s yours? You can choose too, you know. Despite being trapped here, you’re basically free to do anything you please. I know the others take full advantage of that, and rather often, too.”

Fear takes over her face, only for a brief moment, and is replaced with a tense smile. She looks to the ground, and inhales deeply. Laverne remains composed despite all worries and woes, releasing all her energy in a single, puffy sigh.

“No answer, huh? I guess, for now, I can give you a nickname! I love nicknames, for dolls, for friends, and especially ghosts. I’m going to call you.. Kit. My quiet companion. Hehe hah! Tell me that isn’t clever, Kit! I thought of it right on the spot, too. More creative than “Shadow” or “Spooky Foggy-” uh “Dark Smoky Apparition.” Ah, damn. I missed out a bit on “Smoky.“”

“You look a bit confused, Kit. Do you not know what you are?”

“I don’t think I could give you a proper answer, but I’ll try my best. Your not real, Kit, at least, I’m unsure about it. You look real, because I can see you. I can’t hear you, but that is unlike the others, whom I can hear perfectly fine. Every time your hand brushes over mine, I can feel it. In conclusion, most of my senses prove that you should exist.”

Are you aware?

“I know, absurd, right? You know you’re real because you’re you. However, it’s impossible for me to know that for sure.”

Are you real?

“Doctor Wornom says that my mind plays tricks on me, that the reason every girl is here is that our thoughts are artifice. I have tried to believe that, for my own sake. No one wants to be broken, especially in a place like this. Although, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s so much more than just intrusive imagery. I truly believe that I can see the dead... and yes, that includes you, as well. You don’t seem shocked, or maybe that’s just cause you have barely moved at all this entire time. Wow, you are really quiet. Sorry, not judging, just sort of stunned. I’m not at all used to this kind of...”

Laverne takes a beat.

"...peace."

“It’s really quite pleasurable, though, just having someone to talk to. Someone who will listen and won’t yell at me or try to scare me. The others are extremely apathetic, and the girls aren’t really suited for attentive listening. Are you a girl, too? It’s hard to tell right now, since it’s rather dark. It’s always dark in my room, but you’re gonna have to come out during the day! It’s still quite ill lit, but my eyes adjust more easily to the florescent lighting. Think about it! ’Cause the others are around almost all the time, and between you and me, I think you frighten them off. Look around, listen close. Not a single murmur, not even a snippy taunt to impede upon me. Not to say that they’re constantly abusive and loud, that’s just my main experience with them. Their favorite thing to do is call me mean things, tell me to try and put myself to sleep. Forever. I’ve tried to get them to stop, but it really is useless to try. I think they just want to get out of here just as much as I do. I can have sympathy with that, I suppose.”

"You aren’t insulting, though. You’re delightful, and should feel incredibly flattered. I wish you were there yesterday, that would have been the absolute best first time to meet you. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late for Irene, and the noise has settled down since then, so I’m good. I am.”

“One awkward thing about talking to a mute ghost is the fact that it’s a one ended conversation. Like, you can’t ask me who Irene is. For a second, I thought you were going to, but duhhh, you’re silent. Silly ol’ me.”

“Irene is one of the girls who used to live here with us. There’s 17 of us, not including Doctor Wornom, who resides Upstairs. Irene is a unique type of person, at least around here. She’s so... affectionate, and selfless. Irene was the first girl to ask me about what I can see.. she was my first friend. We had known each other for as long as we have existed, all of us have. When she died yesterday, I felt like I lost a part of myself, and it opened a door to such hateful thoughts, noises, screams from the others. Soreness sprouted within me, bile coated my throat, I had to scream to make myself louder. I vomited, thrashed, clawed my way to escape. My head thumped, pounded, bled, I was gone. My heart fell out of my chest and my limbs detached from the sockets and I gave into the pain, the loss, the insults, the screams. The others loved that taste of torment, my first real punch to the gut. It’s been a lot more quiet since you’ve turned up, however.”

“What makes you so different? I keep thinking that to myself. If you are just a thought, and not a real entity, maybe this is a sign of growth. Growth is good, because this place is built to deteriorate people. Growth proves we’re worthy. Growth means you’re an outlier, and it means you’re special.”

Can you see, now?

“I don’t want to deteriorate anymore, Kit.”